And that plant is for
by aBoyWillDo
Summary: Ron discovers mistletoe
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine. I just borrow them for fun.

_Christmas holiday. The best, and worst, time of the year,_ Harry thought, watching Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom pack up a few belongings before they left for home. Ron was seated on his bed, seemingly watching, like Harry, the people around him, but actually, his mind was focused elsewhere.

"I can't believe we have an assignment due, right after vacation ends," Ron groaned aloud. Yes, now was definitely time to complain, when there was a room full of people to sympathize with him.

Neville hadn't heard. He was rummaging through a drawer calling, "Here, Trevor. Time to go home with Neville." Neville's dilemma took Harry's mind off his aggravating, recurring "loneliness" problem. Holidays reminded him of how much he missed having a proper family.

"Want me to help you look for him?" Harry offered, hoping for something to do.

"No need for that, mate," Seamus called, picking up one of his shoes. Out hopped Trevor. Neville happily scooped him up. Grabbing his bag, he headed out the door, waving over his shoulder with the hand holding Trevor.

"So, anyone else dejected by the homework?" Ron tried again. _Sympathy, damn it. _

"See ya," Seamus called after Dean who was already out the door. The remaining boys could hear him thumping down the stairs. "My turn to go," Seamus said. "Have a nice holiday, Harry. You too, Ron." And with that, he was out the door, leaving Ron with only Harry to complain to.

But before Ron could get a word in, Harry had started talking. "So, who all's staying this year?"

"You, me, and Hermione. What'd you expect? That's the way it is every year." He wasn't complaining, even though his tone suggested otherwise. Harry got up and flopped next to Ron on his bed.

"At least you'll have an excuse to spend every waking minute of every day with Hermione," Harry jibbed, poking Ron in the ribs. Ron blushed, his ears turning red. "Where is she, anyway?"

Ron shrugged. He didn't know, but didn't think his blush had died down enough to go find her yet.

"Well, go find her. What are you waiting for?" Harry didn't see the reason for Ron's shyness; it's not like Hermione knew or anything. When Ron didn't budge, Harry decided to provide a teensy bit of motivation. He brought one hand to his mouth and made loud, smacking, kissing noises. Ron glared but still didn't rise from his position. Harry continued. Sure, it wasn't the most mature of behaviors, but Ron's resolve was beginning to crack.

Ron threw a pillow at his best friend before dashing out the door. He ran down the stairs, not gracefully, but quickly. Harry followed in hot pursuit, still making the obnoxious noise. Neither boy expected Hermione to be waiting; Ron smashed right into her, knocking them both to the floor. Harry paused at the bottom step, dropping his hand to his side, hoping, for Ron's sake and his health, that Hermione hadn't heard him.

"Woulff you geshur ungrasheful shelf off me?" Hermione said, her voice muffled and words distorted due to a large mouthful of Ron's sweater.

Bracing his palms against the floor on either side of Hermione's head, Ron pushed himself up a little but stopped, looking down at Hermione directly under him. His right foot was tangled between her legs, and he had been sprawled across her stomach.

"Get you ungraceful self off me this instant!" Hermione demanded. Her voice was loud, clear, and threatening. Flustered, Ron untangled himself and stood, extending a clammy hand to help her up.

Harry still stood on his step, glad that Hermione hadn't noticed his, he searched for the right word… _antics._

"Honestly, chasing each other around like that? I can't believe the two of you would resort to something so, so, so childish for entertainment."

Harry tried desperately not to laugh as Hermione went on, but as always, it was a difficult. And after the episode upstairs with Ron, he didn't have the self-control to help it. A small giggle escaped.

Hermione turned to march huffily to the armchairs by the fire, but Ron's laughter stopped her. She whirled around, catching him off guard. He tried to snap his eyes up as soon as he saw her move, but he wasn't quite fast enough.

"Were you staring at my butt?" she shrieked at him. He flushed and shifted uncomfortably. Harry knew his friend needed rescuing.

"It's hard not to when…" Harry didn't have a way to finish the sentence and hoped to Merlin that Ron could come up with something.

"When it's so dirty," Ron finished, making it sound, miraculously, like one fluid thought.

"Oh." Hermione's cheeks tinged pink as she dusted off the seat of her jeans.

***Christmas Morning***

Already dressed and wide-awake, Hermione climbed the stairs to the boys' dorm carrying the gifts she had for Ron and Harry. She rapped loudly on the door, but no one answered. Muttering "boys" under her breath, she pushed it open and barged right in as though she owned the place. Placing the presents on the bedside tables, Hermione poked Harry gently.

He sat up, blinking. Without his glasses, he couldn't identify the blurry figure standing over him. He groped around for his glasses. After putting them on, he gasped. "Hermione, why are you…"

"Merry Christmas, Harry," she said before turning to Ron, who was still snoring away peacefully. "Ron." She shook him gently. Ron slapped her hand away and rolled over. "Ron," she said again, louder this time. She jabbed him in the stomach through the thick blankets.

"Harry, what in the bloody hell do you want?" Ron turned over.

Hermione stood over him, smiling, "I'm Hermione."

"I can see that," Ron choked out, managing to look confused, shocked, and embarrassed all at once. The blanket slipped down as he sat up, revealing a bare shoulder. He was flushed to the roots of his hair, and even a little farther if it was possible.

Harry shoved a pillow over his face to muffle his laughter.

Ron pulled an arm out to motion for Hermione to turn around. Rolling her eyes, she did. He got up wearing only his boxers and dug around for his clothes. He pulled on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt.

The three sat around unwrapping presents until it was time to go downstairs for breakfast. As soon as Ron opened the package from his mother, he pulled the customary maroon sweater over his head. He had begun to shiver in his thin shirt.

The breakfast that had been laid out on the mahogany table was wonderful. Even Hermione's complaints that house-elves were working over vacation couldn't spoil the festive atmosphere.

"'S.P.E.W.' Silly Purposely-Exaggerating Woman," Ron muttered under his breath. Hermione heard and, to Ron and Harry's great surprise, tossed a roll at him. Ron caught it and took a huge bite.

***Two Days Later***

Mid-afternoon, a grayish owl tapped insistently on common room window. Harry and Ron looked up from their game of Wizard's Chess; Hermione lowered the book she had been reading. Neither of the boys made move to get up.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione sighed. She cast her book aside. Marching over, she opened the window, which happened to be situated directly behind Ron. A sharp breeze poured in. The chess pieces shivered. They weren't the only ones. Hermione's hands shook from the cold as she untied the parchment on its leg. The owl didn't linger. Gratefully, Hermione closed the window. The letter was addressed to her.

She settled back into the soft cushions of her chair before opening it. She shushed Harry and Ron's curious questions as she recognized the handwriting, Viktor's. As she read, a frown wormed its way across her elated smile. She folded the letter and carefully placed it in her pocket.

"Hey, Ron?" she asked.

"Just a second, 'Mione," Ron replied, scrutinizing the chessboard. He moved his bishop. "Check mate, Harry," he said triumphantly. He turned to Hermione as Harry put away the game. "What do you want?"

"Can you teach me more about Quidditch?" she asked.

"You already know about Quidditch," Ron replied, smiling to himself that Hermione thought he was good at something.

"But not enough. I just got Viktor's letter. I can't understand it. It's all about Quidditch."

Ron frowned. "You're still writing to him?"

"We're just friends, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, well in that case, only if you help me with that ridiculous Potions essay."

Hermione nodded. Harry was still seated at the table, smiling broadly. The set-up was perfect.

"I'll go get my Potions stuff from upstairs." And she set off, after a sly wink to Harry. Ron started for the stairs as well to get a copy of _Flying with the Cannons,_ but Harry held him back.

"When are you going to tell her?" Harry queried. Ron blushed furiously.

"Shhhhh," he hissed, "she might hear you. I'll tell her… er, um… later. Yeah, later." Ron tore up the steps before Harry could reply. Once in his dorm, he sat and tried to will his face to cool off.

Back in the common room, Harry charmed a sprig of mistletoe to the ceiling above the boys' stair. Hermione came bounding the other staircase, holding a stack of books which looked like it would topple over at any second and a roll of parchment balanced precariously on top. She dumped the load onto the table, and looked questioningly at Harry.

"He's still upstairs," Harry whispered. He tried to keep the laughter from his voice. He found the situation rather amusing. But the anxious look on Hermione's face told him that she didn't. Harry was confident that later they'd all have a good laugh about it.

"You know the plan, right?" Hermione said, as though she thought he'd forgotten it. Harry nodded. There was no way he'd ever forget this plan. It was beautiful, a true work of art.

Hermione took her place at the base of the stairs, trying to look impatient that Ron was taking so long. It wasn't hard; she was impatient. She heard Ron's steady footfalls as he treaded down. He stopped at the bottom, tempted to run back up as he caught a look at Hermione's expression.

Hermione berated him for being slow. Harry was so impressed by her acting, he knew she really didn't want to squabble with him, that he almost forgot his line. _Boy, Hermione would've really hurt me if I did that._

"Hey guys, look up." Harry was pointing to clarify. Ron looked up.

"Why on earth is there a plant hanging from the ceiling?" The idea seemed rather incredulous to him.

"It's mistletoe," Harry said. Privately, he was glad he had the chance to teach Ron something about the Muggle world instead of Ron explaining magical things that he, Harry, should have understood on his own. "It's a Muggle Christmas thing. You're standing under it. You have to kiss her."

Ron paled (it was positively eerie to see him as pale and unnatural as Malfoy) and then blushed almost instantly. "I-I have to do what?" On the inside he was having a battle with himself. He wasn't sure if he should just do it. He did, after all, really want to do it. Or not do it. The fear of humiliation was definitely strong.

Harry made the kissing noises again. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering "boys." She tip-toed, as she was a few inches shorter than Ron, put on hand on his shoulder to keep steady, and kissed him.

Ron nearly fell backward. He would have, but he didn't want it to end. It did, after what he considered to be a teasingly short amount of time. Hermione regained her composure immediately.

"We should get started," she said as if nothing had happened. The mistletoe followed as the two made their way to the table cluttered with Hermione's stuff. Ron looked up, glaring at it.

"Harry—" he threatened. Harry shrugged. "You didn't do it?" Ron asked, surprised, figuring Harry had jinxed it. Harry turned to Hermione. Of the three of them, it had to be her. She was the only one who a) would spend time looking it up and b) have the skills to do it. Hermione flushed as both boys stared at her. Ron blushed, as per his usual. Neither said a word. Harry mouthed "tell her," but Ron shook his head and looked as though he'd deny everything if asked.

Harry rolled his eyes and went upstairs. He didn't want to stay, and he was certain Ron and Hermione wouldn't miss him. He did, however, leave one last present. On the table sat two mugs of butterbeer laced with a trace amount of Veritaserum, just in case Ron had any difficulty getting the words past his lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: I hadn't intended to write a second chapter, but .MyLife is curious and I'm practicing my fluff.

Ron and Hermione sat at the table, staring sheepishly into their mugs. Neither was quite sure what to say, and they both shifted uncomfortably as the silence stretched on. Hermione's complexion had made a miraculous recovery to its normal color, but Ron got redder by the second. Hermione wondered if his head was going to explode.

"Ron, I—" Hermione tried.

"This might be the first time you haven't had something to say," Ron said without looking up.

"You notice things like that?" She mustered the courage to look up. Ron raised his gaze. When their eyes met they both turned away, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I do," Ron said. He paced away from the table, and away from their untouched beverages.

Hermione smiled at his back and said, "That's so…"

"Lame," Ron finished for her.

"That's not what I was going to say," Hermione protested as she followed Ron across the room. They sat on the couch without thinking about how close they were. "I was going to say sweet."

"Really?" Ron asked, surprised.

"Really. I didn't know you cared enough to notice little things like that."

"I notice lots of things. You tie your shoelaces perfectly even unless you're in a hurry. You secretly like watching me and Harry play Wizard's chess even though it's 'barbaric.' When your socks didn't match last week you didn't realize it until after dinner. And when you're nervous, you tuck your hair behind your ear with your left hand. Like now," Ron finished.

Hermione self-consciously dropped her hand away from her face. Her hair fell limply back against her cheek. Ron hesitated then pushed it back himself. His fingers lingered on her face.

"You sneak cookies at dinner so you can eat them in the middle of the night," Hermione whispered, "and you like the middle cushion of the couch better than the ends."

With his hand still resting on her cheek, Ron kissed her. He was timid and shy and couldn't bear more than a few seconds before he had to see her reaction. Despite their conversation and its obvious implication, his stomach was in knots of doubts. He pulled back, dropped his hand, and forced himself to look into her brown eyes.

Despite the blush on her face, she didn't hesitate as they kissed for the third time. She draped her arms over his shoulders and ran her fingers into his messy, red hair.


End file.
